


engulfed in flames

by Marvelgeek42



Series: in our hands, the glory [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Camp Half-Blood, Claiming, Dean is a demigod, Gen, monster attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8809465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelgeek42/pseuds/Marvelgeek42
Summary: Dean Thomas knows who his father is. He just can't tell people, because honestly, who would believe him?





	1. a glimpse of the truth

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a new crossover series (yes, another one) that I am writing with my friend Sophy aka [the_crownless_queen.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/the_crownless_queen/profile)

He had always known exactly who his father was, but it simply wasn't something you could just tell anyone you met. It wasn't like they would believe him, because honestly, who would not think he was lying when he said that his father none other than the Greek god Hephaestus?

Not many would, that's for sure. Most of them would probably either laugh or make sure that there was a comfy room waiting for him somewhere.

But it was the truth. Dean was a son of Hephaestus. There was no doubt about it; he was claimed, been to Camp Half-Blood and everything.

(On a side note: it was very funny that both secret worlds Dean was a part of used the term half-blood and yet he only was one in one case.)

Not to forget the fact that Dean loved to tinker on something and if he couldn't his hands were itching to do so. He always brought a couple of bolts, other parts, and a toolbox to Hogwarts, because how he could he not?

The only thing he could do against the urge was to draw. Designs for machines, people, dreams, or anything else, really. What he drew didn't matter at all. The point was to keep his hands busy, nothing else, even if his sketches did get quite good over the years.

Dean never stopped drawing cars, because they were awesome and he never got tired of explaining what they were. These people needed to know.

One day he would get to be a mechanic and work on real cars. Because that was his dream, combining magic and his god-given talent to be the best mechanic possible. That was the best possible thing in his future and the most awesome thing was that it wasn't even unlikely.

Also, his mother approved. That was good, too.

Then there was his fascination with fire—of course—that may or may not have played a major role in his friendship with Seamus. Maybe, just maybe he had first spoken to his best friend after he had set his feather on fire in that charms lesson in their first year.

So what? Ron, Harry, and Hermione had become friends by fighting a troll; it wasn't like he was the _only_ odd one.

And Harry had enough problems following him that he had to be Dean's relative, somehow, because no one else attracted trouble like that. At least he hoped so, because otherwise... he didn't even want to think about it, if he was honest.

Let's just say that it would not bode well for the future and leave it like that.

Anyways, Dean really looked forward to today's lesson, because they would finally be learning the second best spell, after _Reparo_. The spell that creates fire, _Incendio_. Today was going to be the best lesson in the entire history of lessons.

And it would be starting any second!


	2. in the face of the danger

Of course he hadn’t _always_ known that his father was a Greek God. Everyone had to be told those things at one point. It was not something you knew by instinct.

In Dean’s case it was when he was three years and nine months (because things like that seemed important at that time). He was one of the unluckier ones. The lucky ones might even make it into the double digits before they found out.

He learned the truth after had been trapped by a larger humanoid monster—a wendigo, he would later learn—while hiking on the woods and Dean had been incredibly scared.

But a part of him knew what to do, somehow. Dean looked around and found the biggest stick he would be able to actually carry.

He quickly took it from the grass. It was wet, just like he expected.

A second later, it was on fire.

(Years later he would find out that that was not supposed to be possible. He never like the rules.)

And boy, that was _awesome_! The thing took a step back.

Maybe fire harmed it, Dean collected all of his bravery and took two steps forward.

“Leave me and my Mom alone!” he yelled, not knowing whether or not the thing understood him.

“You smell nice, little demigod,” the thing spoke win a dark, raspy voice. “That fire of yours will serve me well. Your flesh will be well roasted.”

At this point Dean honestly would not have been surprised if he had peed himself.

That thing was beyond scary. And Dean? He was not even four; he was scared, quite understandably so.

Luckily, he was saved by someone more experienced than either he or his mother were at that moment.

Their saviour was a woman. She was tall and her skin was just a tiny bit lighter than Dean’s own. She was quite musculus, too.

Dean didn’t see how she got rid of the monster, but he could feel the warmth of the fire. He was fascinated by it. Apart from the rapidly shrinking stick he was still holding, he had never seen fire before.

It was the best thing he had seen so far.

“You’re a brave little guy,” the woman said as she returned to Dean and his mother. “I can tell you are going to be a great hero one day. My name’s Florence, by the way.”

She looked his mother in the eyes and Dean could tell they were having an adult conversation.

(He would later learn that his saviour had tried to find out if his mother knew—she did.)

“I’m Dean,” the small boy called attention to himself. His stick had completely turned into ash by now,

“Hey Dean,” Florence said, kneeling down to meet his eyes. “You did a good job there, kiddo. Let me tell you why that monster did what it did and what you and your mom need to do so that it doesn’t happen again.”

The toddle nodded. “Okay.”

Because not getting attacked by monsters sounded like a good plan.


	3. may help to save your life

The first time his mother took him to Camp Half-Blood was a bit more than a year later; just a few days after his fifth birthday.

Florence was at their side, both during their flight over the Atlantic and on their way to Camp. Florence was the one that lead the way and the one who spoke the phrase that allowed Dean’s mother to enter the property lines.

(Entering this new world without his mother was  _ not  _ an option.)

(The same was true for the second world. He never lied to her. If anything, he lied to others about lying to her.)

The three of them entered the property of Camp Half-Blood and Florence lead them to Chiron and Dionysus, who seem to be the leaders of this Camp.

Chiron was welcoming and he seemed completely and utterly delighted at the sight of Dean’s mother accompanying him. He greeted Florence like an old friend and even when Dean asks why he is in a wheelchair, his face doesn’t lose his happy expression.

(His mother looks at him sternly for the comment, but Chiron himself actually laughs it off. He’s part  _ horse _ which is completely amazing and just...wow.)

Dionysus—or Mr. D as everyone is supposed to call him—was...less nice. He seemed kind of like the creepy old men his mother told him to avoid, but there was something about him that made him seem nicer. More sympathetic and all that.

Mr. D didn’t remember his name, even after Dean’s mother corrected him the fifth time, and he spoke in ways that made his mother glare, but the way Florence talks with him made Dean think that there had to be more to the man. Er, god.

Chiron tells Florence to show him around after she informs him that she has explained the basic information to Dean and his mother in the past year.

And Florence shows them around. She leads him to the climbing wall— _ don’t worry, Dean won’t be required to go up there until he’s ten and even then there are safety measures and healers on hand _ —the kitchens, Zeus’s fist and anything she deems important before she gets around to the cabins.

(Dean later learns that it was an attempt to get his father to listen, to pay attention to realize that he was at Camp.)

(And it worked.)

They arrive at the cabins and Dean is immediately drawn to the one with a chimney full of smoke, the one that reeks of sweat and tears. Loud sounds of metal clashing against metal originate from it, just like shouts that _ this is not the place for this! _ .

This is where Dean belongs, he knows that instinctively. These are his people, his  _ siblings _ .

He pauses his step and Florence is about to—reluctantly—tell him to move on to the Hermes cabin, when a warm light is forming above Dean’s head.

The image of a firey red hammer is hovering right there.

The sign of his father, Hephaestus.

Dean has been claimed and now everyone knows where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think!


End file.
